


He Means Well (A Winchester Christmas)

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frankly, the whole thing (while involving both moonlit strolls and kissing) was less a romance than a series of hilarious, completely avoidable errors. Love is neither easy nor sensible, brothers live to torment and there is no one in the whole of the good ol’ US of A who wouldn’t appreciate a George Foreman grill. At least, in theory. (Written as a belated pinch-hit for the Sassy Christmas Exchange)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Means Well (A Winchester Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mariedesade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariedesade/gifts).



Two souls intertwined and bathed in one another’s gentle smiles, unknowing lovers entranced by winter’s chilly emptiness; drawn together, warmed. At least, that’s probably how a narrator would have described it. A moonlit stroll, a stolen kiss lit by the warm glow of shared company, a halo of fluffy snow surrounding some fate-wrought pair. Of course, literary romanticism tends to run rampant around the holiday season so the accuracy of any of these statements is entirely debatable. Frankly, the whole thing (while involving both moonlit strolls and kissing) was less a romance than a series of hilarious, completely avoidable errors. Love is neither easy nor sensible, brothers live to torment and there is no one in the whole of the good ol’ US of A who wouldn’t appreciate a George Foreman grill. At least, in theory.

To start with, there was no end of the world- which was a technical first. Sam and Dean Winchester weren’t fighting the devil, heading off an apocalypse or knuckle-boxing with the next evil up-and-comer. Gates of hell sealed, demons doing the salsa merengue on the down-low, southside, gonedie, tu est bye-bye. Dean was never particularly good at French but, either or. After everything was done and over with, there was nothing left but the inevitable fallout. Sam and Dean hadn’t been brothers for a very, very long time. On the back-burner for a lifetime’s worth of unending disaster, it finally came to an ugly head in Hartford. After an argument that went from he-said she-said to an all-out brawl, two dislocations and a nose that might never look the same later, they were sitting side by side in an overcrowded E.R. lobby with police escort in tow. Paperwork, it was a nightmare. Questions. Domesticities. Excuses.

 _I left you both alone for twenty minutes_ was Castiel’s head-shaking deadpan and in the end it didn’t really matter who started laughing first, but it was okay. Sam was bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, his mouth and nose, Dean couldn’t turn his wrist more than fifteen degrees, Castiel was mother-henning them both with a pensive frown and it was _funny_. For a split second they were back in Wheaton High in front of the principal because Dean had kissed Sally Winterson who Sam liked first and- well, they were just brothers again. Stupid, hot tempered and when they ended up in the middle of cow country in a house they rented because why not, nobody said I’m sorry or let’s talk. Instead, they were just Sam and Dean, two-square pair and about time, the water under the bridge was nothing but wet. It didn’t fix everything that was wrong but was the first step in a better direction. Peace, if nothing else.

On a cold and windy December two weeks later, Sam was gone and Castiel wanted to talk.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I’d like to talk.”

“Kinda what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Dean put down the Car and Auto he’d been reading. Out of habit he took a deep breath; brace for the inevitable was the motto and expect the worst the stand-by. “Fine, shoot. What’s up?”

“If you’re interested in some- in a person, in a non-familial way…”

“Yeah?” Dean was instantly suspicious.

“In a-” Castiel hesitated, “In a posiplantonic way…?”

“Posi-what-now?”

“If you are invested in a person’s personal-” Castiel hesitated.

“Just spit it out, man.”

“What does Sam like?”

“ _What?_ ”

“What does he like, what would I say if I want to-”

“ _Sam?_ ” Dean’s eyes bulged.

Castiel frowned, confused. “Yes?”

“Sam. Okay. Okay I can-” Dean’s usual suave went flying right out the window. “ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know.” Good ol’ angelic bluntness.

“Well that’s different.”

Castiel tilted his head, which was the non-verbal equivalent of: please, explain.

“I just thought-”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Dean shook it off, alrighty then. Feeling a little robbed of an I appreciate you as a friend Cas but I don’t feel that way speech, he continued. “So, Sam.”

“Yes.”

Actually, it made more sense than he wanted to admit. Every, _hey is Cas gonna be coming along_ mixed with every _is Sam here_ , it started to form a picture. Castiel touching a thumb to Sam’s split lip, his reddening cheeks, his angry you should know better click of the tongue. Looking over to watch Sam watching Castiel, only to realizing Castiel was watching him back and neither one of them had actually heard a word he was saying. Little things, easy to dismiss until they all snapped suddenly into place.

“You like Sam.”

“Yes.”

“Wh- you know what?” Dean changed his mind, “Doesn’t even matter. Okay, you- uh, Sam apparently and a basket full of… extremely awkward whatever. What do you want to know, exactly?”

Really, Dean was only a _little_ offended. Relieved, but he was a catch, thank-you very much.

“What do I do?” That was a very broad question.

“I’m not giving you the sex talk.”

“I understand the coital fundaments, Dean.”

“Alright, so…”

“Do I initiate c-”

“Whoah, whoah.” Dean backed up a half-step for implicative measure, “Hold up that crazy train right there- yeah, no. Not really the kind of blow-by-blow I’m gonna sign up for here. No dice, man.”

Castiel frowned, again. Nothing was going according to plan. “But what do I say?”

“Say about what?” That was probably a loaded question.

“Interest.”

“Oh Jesus fuck.”

“What?”

“Just- no.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, “Interest, really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re serious.” Not a question, a statement.

“ _Yes._ ” Castiel was getting irritated, “If I want to-”

Dean didn’t actually hear what Castiel wanted to do, which was probably for the best. Sam wasn’t exactly the lefty-loosy type of guy, he was about as all-Americanly hetero as they came. Although, if there was any ambiguous bendability involved it would probably sway in the direction of a little angel-persuasion. Sure, they didn’t talk much about it but Sam was one fanboy shirt away from being Castiel’s number one. At first it had been a religious thing- prayer and whatever, but then it was genuine awe and finally a firm friendship. It was all right up Sam’s overtly emotive ally and looks like up his ally was exactly where Cas w- Dean cringed inwardly. Nope, not touching that with a ten-thousand foot pole.

“I don’t know you just-”

“Yes?”

“Just say something nice. I mean, complimentary- Sam’s a giant-assed girl so, stroke his ego or something? I don’t know, man. Just try something that makes him feel man-pretty or whatever.”

“Man-pretty.” Castiel seemed to mull this over.

“I need a drink.” Dean shook his head, not enough whisky in the universe.

 

++++++++++++

 

An hour later Dean was entirely relieved when Sam walked through the door because Castiel had been brooding in the corner with his pensive look on his face. Setting down a bag of groceries, Sam took off his hat and coat, stomping his feet near the door to get the extra snow off. Castiel watched him with a sort of careful contemplation and Dean, still sitting at the kitchen table, watched them both.

“I got milk and eggs, some more bread. A few things for Christmas, eggnog, whisky. I wasn't sure if we were going to do a dinner or something so…” Sam held up a boxed turkey roll, “Festive, eh?”

Dean snorted, “Fabulous. Instant mashed potatoes?”

“Butter and herb.” Another box, “And instant stuffing.”

“Cranberry sauce?”

“Canned.”

“Sounds like we’re set for some good ol’ Winchester home-cooking.”

Sam chuckled, “You sticking around long enough for dinner, Cas? It’s only a week or so until Christmas, well two if we don’t count today I guess. Uh, unless you’re busy or something, which is cool.”

“I can stay.” He said gruffly.

“Awesome.” Sam grinned, leaning across the table to reach the last bag. “So I also got-”

“The curve of your backside is pleasing to the eye without being emasculating.”

Sam gaped and Dean tried not to choke on his drink. “Uh… Thanks? So I was saying I got-”

Undaunted, Castiel tried again. “I do not find our excessive height differential intimidating, you are suitably well-proportioned.”

Dean was going to wet his pants. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt.

“Okay, uh…” Sam blinked, “Cas are you feeling alright?”

Clearly frustrated Castiel tried for blunt, “Your body is generally arousing.”

“Yeah I- uh, thanks?” Because really, what do you say?

Ribs aching because he was about to bust a gut, Dean wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye and tried to bite back the grin crawling across his face. Jesus, if he could only laugh! He didn’t mean literally man-pretty! Only Castiel could have managed to take that little gem in stride. Oh, hell.

Castiel’s suave flirting wasn’t working and suitably ruffled, he disappeared.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“No idea,” Dean lied. “Maybe he’s trying out pick-up lines?”

“On me?”

“Why not? He’d know better than to try them on me.”

“Yeah, but…” Sam frowned, “That was just-”

“Strange and creepy?”

“I’d go with that, yeah.”

“I dunno, Cas is just- well, Cas.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam shook it off, “Anyway, like I was trying to say…”

++++++++++++

 

The next morning, things just got weirder. Sam took a shower, Castiel asked what he might like for breakfast. Dean said ‘something weird and organic’ and made a broad gesture. Dripping wet, Sam was handed a hollow gourd filled with (apparently) Sumarian blood-pudding. Trying not to look too disgusted, Sam took a small bite and then surreptitiously deposited the rest of it in the kitchen disposal. Looking longingly at the turkey-bacon and whole-wheat toast he was too-full (quote un-quote, Dean) to have, Sam watched Castiel smile at him across the table, entirely proud of himself.

Certified organic, he’d gone to Sumaria himself.

When lunch rolled around it was better, Dean had elbowed him and said ‘a little less blood this time’ and so what he ended up with was an eggplant and avocado Panini with free-ranged chicken and a side salad. Not to be ungracious, Castiel got Dean a triple stacker and a tea for himself, he liked the taste.

“I think he likes this a little better than the warrior-brand bloodpie, eh Sammy?”

“Yeah,” He tried to be polite about it, “I mean- I appreciate the gesture, though.”

“No blood in your meals.” Castiel nodded. It was like he was making a list.

On Tuesday, Castiel brought Sam a flowering cactus. Sam just stared at it while Dean sniggered, they had been watching a documentary and all he’d said was: desert fauna is kinda neat and the next day, plant life. There was a series of inventive lattes, a tofu something-something that tasted like deep fried Reeboks and on Wednesday so many dirty old books that Dean was going to have to find another shelf to put them on. Thursday, Sam made the mistake of saying he wished he had another sweater and ended up with twelve of the ugliest knits in existence. It didn’t matter what it was, if Sam liked it Castiel had it.

Watching him stammer through every thank-you was comedic gold and Dean was having a blast.

 

++++++++++++

 

Around midday the day before Christmas Eve, Castiel had to step out. Sam, who had been puzzling over what was going on for the entire week was getting a little moody. Draped over their couch he was thinking. What was going on with Castiel, exactly? He’d been acting a little stranger than usual for days, hanging around him instead of Dean, wanting to be helpful, wanting Sam to pay attention to him. Odd little gifts, trinkets and bobbles and books- god, he wasn’t even sure what to do with them all! The strangest part was that Dean didn’t seem to think anything of it which was atypical. Frankly, Sam was surprised he wasn’t metaphysically pissing all over everything they owned. Castiel was like his own personal winged call-boy and all the extra attention was making him slightly uncomfortable.

Not stop paying attention to me uncomfortable, but a careful treading of zones uncomfortable. He would never do that to Dean but the more Castiel wormed his way into Sam’s everyday routine the more he wanted him to stay. It was the deep-rooting feeling of warmth at the mention of his name, the way his confused little habituals never failed to make him smile. Awkward head tilt, backwards tie, stupid stubble and whatever it was that was seeding in his chest, it was overwhelming. Castiel was an angel, Dean’s angel technically, in a male vessel, with about as much carnal prowess as a turnip.

Besides that he was- well, _Cas!_

Sam sighed heavily and Dean looked up, “Penny for your girly thoughts?”

“Shut-up, Dean.”

“C’mon, man. You look like you swallowed a lemon, what’s up?”

“It’s-”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Sam…”

“It’s Cas, okay? He’s just been acting- I don’t know, like he’s lost his marbles? Seriously, Dean. He brought me that blood cake or-”

“Pudding.”

“Fine, blood pudding or whatever and all the presents, and I don’t know. Does he think I’m mad at him or something?” Maybe he was trying to apologize, that made sense.

“Yeah, don’t think that’s your problem.” Dean said wistfully.

“Do you know something?”

“Nope.”

“Then why would you-”

“Listen, he’s probably just trying to get into the holiday spirit. You know he’s backwards as all hell, just humor him. Maybe take him outside, pick a tree, make some snow angels, be a pal. I’m not about to suit up in my hat and booties and take him, so just- fuck, give him an experience or something.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah, man.”

“But Dean he’s kinda like your-”

Dean held up a halting hand, “Yeah, no dice man. Me’n’him had that talk. Few rules; don’t drive my car, don’t date my girl and no angel business all up in this fine piece of ass. We’re kosher, trust me.”

“You’re disgusting, but okay.”

“Why, you got some big ol’ mancrush on the go?”

“No.” Well, he said _that_ little too quickly. “Not stepping on any toes, that’s all.”

“Just take him out, toss some snow around, have some hot chocolate and tell him the true meaning of Christmas is gifting your older brother some new skinmags. He’ll be fine, he just doesn’t get it.”

“Alright.” Actually, Dean was probably on track. That theory made a lot of sense.

So when Castiel got back and after making sure everything was okay and the world wasn’t about to stop spinning he asked, “Hey, did you wanna go out for a bit, maybe take a walk? It snowed.”

Castiel looked suddenly and intensely pleased with himself, “Alright.”

“Alright then, uh- I guess you probably don’t have anything for winter. You can borrow something of mine, if you want. Hat, mittens at least.” Sam was talking just to fill the silence, “Do you have boots?”

“I don’t feel temperature fluctuations, Sam.” Of course he didn’t have boots.

“Well, yeah but people might wonder why you’re not wearing a hat.”

Sam cringed inwardly. Really, did he just say that? As if anyone would care- they were in a farmhouse, in the middle of nowhere. Castiel didn’t say anything, though. He just stood quietly still and with no help forthcoming, and a last desperate look at Dean, Sam wrapped a red woolly scarf around his neck. Adjusting how tight it was he didn’t color as Castiel thumbed the texture thoughtfully or smiled in that not-mouth way of his. Mittens, Sam wasn’t about to put those on. Castiel was an angel of the Lord, not a cherub of the second grade. Handing them off and ignoring Dean’s chuckle, he pulled on his work boots and jammed on his waffle cap, adjusting the earflaps. Ready as he’d ever be, he supposed.

“Did you really want us to drag home a tree?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean shrugged, “We could use a little festive cheer, axe is in the shed.”

So, ten minutes and an axe later they were finally heading out. Awkwardly Sam fumbled with which hand to carry it in and because carrying it in his offhand meant their hands kept touching, he switched. In a pretty large way, he was convinced he was going crazy. These thoughts, feelings- they just kept sneaking up on him! Castiel with that bright red scarf all piled around his neck, how easy it would have been to grab the ends, pull him close and- “Hey! Look, deer tracks. Probably out scratching, earlier.”

Castiel frowned, he knew it was rude but… He’d liked where Sam’s thoughts were going.

Arguably it wasn’t spying, it was just that Sam was thinking so loudly it was practically impossible not the listen in. This was part of the problem from day one, Sam’s thoughts. Don’t be angry with Cas, Dean. He’s trying. He means well. He’s just a little backwards okay, cut him some slack. He has those adorable blue eyes and those lips- geez, those lips. Just wish I knew what they felt like- no I don’t- yes I do- Jesus Christ Dean’s gonna kill me, then he’ll bury me just to dig me up and kill me twice. Always smells like fresh air, wonder how tiny he is under that coat. Bet he’s small, strong- bet he’d… Alright Sam, cold shower, ice down your drawers, get a life counsellor. Cas’ done loads for us, show him some respect.

Mostly the thing that staggered him every time was Sam’s unending capacity for loving.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment- I’ll return shortly.”

“What- why?” They’d been tromping through the snow for ten minutes and suddenly, with a small, immaterial pop, Castiel had disappeared. “Seriously? Cas!” Sam stamped, “It’s cold out here…”

 

++++++++++++

 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Jesus Christ!” Dean (who had been stretched out on the bed) pulled the blankets up to his mid and for pointed measure, shoved his magazine under the pillow. “Warn a guy, hell. Where’s Sam?”

“Standing in a snow bank wondering where I’ve gone. How do I-”

“What, you just left him there?”

“Yes. Now, I was asking-”

“You can’t just leave him there!”

“Dean!”

“What?”

“Stop interrupting me.”

Dean slammed his mouth shut.

“He keeps thinking about things.”

“Who, Sam?” Oh, of course Sam. He cleared his throat, “Okay- uh, what kinds of things.”

“That he wants to touch me, wonders what my skin feels like. He thinks you’ll hit him, if you knew. He wanted to kiss me, just now. It’s nerve-wracking at best, and he thinks extraordinary loudly.  At one point, he briefly wondered why they call pineapples pineapples but I suspect that was unrelated.”

“And you left him standing in a snow bank. Smooth move, Casanova.” Dean raked his fingers through his hair, “Listen, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Go, I don’t know, put your creepy angel lips on my little brother and never tell me about it. There are only two ways this ends, either he hits you in the face and we all move on, or he explodes into a rainbow of homomanliness and you get railed in a snowdrift. But however it goes down- and I cannot express this enough- do  _not_  tell me about it, ever."

“I understand.” Castiel nodded, it was like he was on a bloody mission.

“Good. Okay, well- go, do that or whatever.”

“I appreciate your blessing, Dean.”

“THAT WASN’T MY-” And Castiel was gone.

 

++++++++++++

 

“Cas!” Sam was relieved, “Where the hell did you go?”

“Back to the house.”

“Why?”

“It’s inconsequential.” Castiel shrugged, “Is this the tree?”

Sam turned, not realizing he’d been standing in the awkward shadow of an enormous Douglas fir while he waited to see if he was walking back alone. “Cas, that’s a twenty-foot pine.”

“Probably impractical for the ceiling height in living room, then.”

Sam caught the subtle smile, he was making a joke. A bad one, but a joke all the same. Chuckling, he shook his head, “Is all this Christmas stuff really throwing you for a loop?”

“It’s an impractical holiday.”

“Well, yeah- but there’s some decent stuff about it, the food, the snow.”

“It’s cold and wet.”

“It’s pretty.” Sam tried, “And you can make sno- _mmff!_ ”                                                      

Castiel’s mouth collided with his with a surprising amount of force. In fact, it was a small miracle that neither of them chipped a tooth. It wasn’t a kiss so much as a smoosh and after an incredibly awkward few seconds of neither of them moving, Castiel pulled away and Sam just stared at him, blinking.

“That was markedly unpleasant. I apologize.” Then, he disappeared.

Actually, it was getting to be a bit of an irritating habit.

Sam, feeling like he’d woken up in strange, alternate reality quietly cut down a less impressive tree because he didn’t want Dean to complain and started to drag it home. Castiel had tried to kiss him, either that or eat him, practice C.P.R. maybe? Castiel mouth and his mouth had been the same general mouth area and he’d just stood there. Didn’t kiss back, didn’t say hey, wait, no, stop. Not that he would have, but all those secret thoughts, wants, ideas had finally come to a head and that was it?

He hadn’t expected instantaneous fireworks, but that had been both pathetic and painful.

“What was I supposed to do?” Great, Winchester. Now you’re talking to yourself.

The worst part of the whole experience was that little part inside that was screaming you were supposed to kiss back, stupid. Except, that made no sense. Castiel didn’t- wouldn’t- why would he…

Sam had a headache. Reaching the house, he leaned the tree against the porch and went inside.

“Hey, get the tree alr- what the hell happened to you?” Sam looked like a kicked puppy.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I said it’s nothing Dean, it doesn’t matter.”

“Where’s Castiel?”

“Gone.”

“Aw, shit Sammy.” Dean sighed, “Were you decent about it at least?”

“What?”

“I mean when you let his feathery ass down, were you nice about it? I figured better to know than not but shit, he’s been nursing this little love-tug of his for weeks, months maybe. I didn’t get all the details, just the majority of the intensely awkward skinny. So, how badly did you destroy him?”

Sam’s brain was still trying to catch up.

“How’s his face?”

 His face? Oh, god. “Dean, what did you do?”

“Listen, it’ll all blow over. He just needed to get it out there and now that it’s-”

“Tell me whatever-the-hell just happened, it wasn’t your idea.”

“C’mon, he just popped in for a quick second, seemed to be a little messed up about your brain screaming do-me at him and he asked what he should do. I mean, he said something about pineapples too so I don’t really know if he was getting the full transmission but whatever, dude.” Dean shrugged, “Not my brain, not my business. I just told him if he was gonna do something, just do it.”

Sam paled. Hell, had Cas heard everything he’d been thinking? It _was_ a kiss!

“So, how broken up is he gonna be?”

“He’s not, he…” Well, he didn’t really know.

“Okay, so what now?”

“What?”

“Bar mitzvah, blender, congratulations on your buttsex card?” Dean rubbed his neck, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, man. So, is he flitting back for dinner or-”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to help me out.” Sighing Dean added, “I’m going to regret asking this but in for the fucking penny, what happened?”

Ninety shades of crimson and feeling more freshman than thirty-something, Sam mumbled.

“Can’t hear you, man.”

“He kissed me or, I don’t know- smashed our faces together.”

“Hah! Oh god, that’s good.” Sam cringed but Dean continued, “Okay, and then…?”

“He said, that was markedly unpleasant.”

“And…?”

“Apologized.”

“And after that?”

“He left.”

“So, get his ass back here?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, how?”

“Man, I’m not-”

Dean held up a hand, “Spare me the awkward explanation of your sexuality, either you like Cas or you don’t but don’t be a dick about it. Nerdy little angel dude, gigantically oversized walking textbook, it’s like every disgustingly cliché ending ever. Man, it was funny when he was feathering your nest with all this crap,” Dean made a sweeping gesture towards the cactus pot, “But yes or no, it isn’t hard.”

“Yeah, so what do I do?”

“What the hell does everyone ask _me_ that?” Dean groaned, “I don’t know man. Listen, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so here’s the deal. You’re going to be here doing something endearing and I’m going to be at the Corkstop and Bourbon drinking away the idea of you naked and hitting on the bartender.”

“That’s your plan?” Figures.

“I think it’s solid.” He shrugged, “Seriously man, I don’t care what you tell him but don’t leave the little treetopper hanging. No, yes, whatever. As long as you don’t start saying everything is fabulous and wearing socks with sandals, we’re good.”

So, that’s how Sam ending up alone in the house, nervous and with a mangy Christmas tree.

 

++++++++++++

 

“You prayed, Sam?”

“Yeah- uh, I was wondering if you wanted to hang around for a bit. Dean’s out, thought we’d watch some flicks, tree’s still naked if we wanna do that. I made some hot chocolate, if you want.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Okay.”

Awkwardly perched on the farthest sofa cushion, Castiel was sipping milky hot chocolate he didn’t really need to drink and Sam was having a quiet heart attack. There wasn’t a manual for this kind of thing and if there was, he hadn’t read it. So, he drank hot chocolate and after an awkward few minutes added, “We don’t really have much in the way of decorations, Dean and I used to make little stars and stuff out of tinfoil, and we’ve got popcorn, if you want to waste some time on handy-crafts.”

Because that’s what they should do, sit around and string popcorn. Very adult, sexy even. Sam wanted to kick himself in the foot but twenty minutes later they were hunched over the coffee table doing exactly that. Sam would reach for a piece and so would Castiel, their hands touching however briefly. Castiel was frowning so hard his face had to hurt, carefully and precisely poking a needle through the exact center of every kernel. Of course he’d think it was a perfectionist’s activity, that’s just how he was made. Haphazardly stringing his own, Sam was rushing because now that he’d gotten them roped into it the only way to move on was to finish. An hour later and finally done, Castiel was still hovering, waiting for whatever came next.

“More?” Sam pointed at his empty cup.

“No.”

“Okay, uh-”

“You seem extraordinarily uneasy,” Castiel sighed, “I apologize for my behavior the other day, it was... unwelcome. I seemed to have misinterpreted various advices.” Dean, he meant.

“No, it’s not-” What was he supposed to say? “Cas…”

“Yes?”

“Forget the tinfoil stuff, you wanna grab some air?”

Raising an eyebrow, Castiel just nodded.

Minutes later they were strolling down the laneway, snow swirling around in fat flakes. Castiel was wearing that same borrowed scarf and Sam felt intensely silly, there were so many unknowns. What to say, how to say it, if he should and more importantly, why the sudden shift in everything that made any kind of logical sense. Explanation-wise, all his overworked brain could spit out was: _it’s Cas, that’s why_. As if that would click it all into place, explain why that puzzled frown made him smile, why every blunt rebuttal made him laugh, the way _hello Sam_ just rolled off his tongue and tickled in his belly. Shorter than he was but taller in presence, always had the worst timing, never took off that ridiculous coat. A conundrum wrapped up in an enigma wrapped up in the most tactless deadpan on the planet.

Head a fluffy halo of white, Sam just wanted to pull him in close and try. It didn’t even matter what, just something, anything, everything. Kiss every little frown line in order, one by one. Except, he didn’t do any of those things. Slowly and like he was diffusing a bomb, he slipped a gloved hand into Castiel’s and kept on walking. Heart hammering in his chest, he was probably broadcasting brainwaves in stereo sound, but with the grounding feel of Castiel’s palm against his, he didn’t even care. Dean had actually been right all those years, he was six foot four inches of undiluted, unadulterated giant girl.

“Full moon tonight, looks nice.” Casual conversation, always a smooth move.

“It is very bright, yes.”

“It’s getting kind of cold, though.”

“Did you want to go back to the house?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “Maybe for a bit.”

Making their way back around the laneway from the opposite direction, the shadow of the tree line was no longer blocking the moonlight. Castiel hadn’t let his hand go but also hadn’t said anything. Just the peaceful silence of winter all around them, a fresh blanket of snow making everything post-card pretty. Now or never, time to grow a pair Winchester. Deep breath, calm down, ignore first impulse to swallow your tongue. Sam stopped and Castiel took a half-step before he felt the subtle pull-back.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

And like a slow-motion fall, they were kissing.

Sam had to lean down just that little bit and it was gentle, so soft it felt like a tickle. Stubble wasn’t bad, just different. Castiel’s lips were soft, pliant and pillowy. Bow, crux and corner and he kissed exactly like he was kissing an angel, reverently, carefully. Pulled him in by his lapels, dragged him closer still by the pile of his scarf. There was a snowflake melting lazily on his nose and Castiel was a terrible kisser but that didn’t even matter because it was absolutely perfect. More than he’d imagined, even expected.

Parting slowly Sam smiled as eyes-wide, Castiel touched a finger to his mouth.

“So,” He readjusted his coat. “Still markedly unpleasant?”

 

++++++++++++

 

Christmas morning was a six o’clock wake-up. Dean might as well be five, because he was into the tree like a dirty shirt. Yawning his way through a second cup of coffee and wondering when Castiel might pop in, Sam was happy. The night before they had come back to the house, shared a dozen sloppy kisses in the glow of the firelight and watched Christmas Vacation. Actually, Castiel had watched it and Sam had watched the way he smiled at the television, the way his nose wrinkled. Arm stretched around his shoulders, Sam had sipped his eggnog and relaxed into the threadbare couch. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel that strange to press a dry kiss into the back of Castiel’s neck or breathe in the not-smell of his mussy hair.

Sure, they hadn’t worked out all the finer details but that would probably come with time. Worst case scenario, Dean had enough porn to paper the White House so, he probably had some tips. Slots, tabs, a miniature diagram covering above the knee but below the navel, whatever. Not that it was something set for the immediate future, he wasn’t twenty anymore and some emotional wait time wouldn’t kill either of them. Take it slow, take it easy and just figure it out day by day. Solid plan.

“Dean, seriously?” Rustling paper caught his attention and turning his head, Sam rolled his eyes. “Stop snooping the presents, Cas isn’t even here yet.”

“I’m not snooping.”

“Shaking them all counts as snooping.” He set his cup down, “Get out.”

“Fine.” Dean looked forlornly at one for him, “You want another coffee?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind.”

Dean was already in the kitchen when Castiel breezed in and deposited a large box in Sam’s lap. He’d missed the idea of wrapping paper by a mile- it was covered in Marmaduke clippings.

“What’s this?”

“Your gift.”

“Okay, uh-”

“It’s a George Foreman tabletop grill.” It sounded like he was reciting the package.

Somehow, Sam’s heartfelt thank-you came out as “Why?”

“Dean said as the domestic spouse, you would appreciate a kitchen appliance.” Castiel paused, “Also, the infomercial said there was no one who wouldn’t appreciate the fat-drain technology. It’s healthy.”

From the kitchen, Sam could hear Dean howling. Impulsively, he thought about strangling him but really, all he could do was chuckle. Cas was looking at him with owlish expectance and it was just so perfectly him, the summation of the phrase ‘he meant well’. Sam set the box down, stood up and wrapped him in a warm, long-armed hug. After a moment of surprised stiffness, Castiel hugged back.

“It’s really great, Cas.” It really was, even if it wasn’t. “Thanks, and happy Christmas.”

 

End.

 

 **A/N:** Written as a belated pinch-hit for the Sassy Christmas Exchange for mariedesade using the following prompts: Castiel isn’t exactly an expert at relationships or flirting. So to try and get Sam’s attention he asks Dean for tips. Up to you whether Dean gives him actual advice or just messes with him, though I’d like at least one funny tip ( telling him to do something that is the opposite of sexy, giving him lame pick up lines) before Dean gives him some serious advice **AND** Castiel’s first Christmas and Sam and Castiel exchanging gifts. Would love if Castiel hasn’t quite gotten the hang of gift giving yet so he gets Sam an unconventional gift.


End file.
